Idiot's Paradise
by Phx
Summary: Dean IS happy. He is. Until Rufus calls... AU Tag for 5.03.


_Tag to 5.03. This will be AU once 5.04 airs but until then, it's my bit of fun. Spoilers abound but only for things up 5.03. _

**Idiot's Paradise**

"_We need to find the Colt,"_ Sam's hurried words rushed into Dean's ear before he even got a chance to say hello. To say he was surprised that Sam had called out of the blue like this would have been an understatement.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was guarded. He wasn't sure what his brother wanted. "What are you talking about?'

"_The Colt, Dean, the gun that can kill anything. We have to find it!"_ Sam sounded on the verge of panic and something stirred inside Dean. He tried to ignore it. After all he _was _happy. He _was_ enjoying his freedom. No EMO little brother, no putting on a front when the shit the kid could do scared you out of your brain. _No chains_. Nope. Just lots of fun, fun, fun. Yeah, Castiel was a bag of gas without the burritos.

"What's this 'we' stuff, Sam-"

Sam cut him off. _"Dean, we don't have time for this. You don't understand-"_

"You're right," Dean spoke over him, "and what's more, I don't want to understand. I'm busy, Sam, I have things to do, things to kill. If you want to find the Colt, fine, but-"

"_He spoke to me, Dean, Lucifer spoke to me!" _

Okay, that gave Dean pause. He felt something cold wrap around the stirring. "What are you talking about?" he repeated, suddenly feeling stupid.

"_Lucifer. He wants me to be his vessel! His vessel, Dean – Oh God, I can't, I can't!"_

"You're hallucinating." That had to be it. "Cas tattooed us. Lucifer can't find you."

"_Yes, I mean, no, you're right, he can't find me but he still got to me. He spoke to me. I dunno maybe it was a hallucination but it was him. He,"_ he heard his brother swallow, _"he came to me."_

"For crying out loud." Dean was so tired of this. He was doing good and one freaking phone call from Sam was all it took to kill the mood. "You can't be serious."

"_I am, Dean, I am."_ He could tell from the sound of his brother's voice that Sam was pacing. _"I asked him 'why me', 'why me'? And do you know what he said?_" Sam never waited for an answer_, "He said because __it had to be me__. That it always __had to be me__. Dean, that's the exact same thing Ruby said to me in the convent, after I killed Lilith. She said it always had to be me! What is that supposed to mean? It should have been Jake!"_

All the color drained from Dean's face as, like bullets in a chamber of a gun, things clicked into place. Of course it had to be Sam. There had never been any doubt among the demons. The only wild card had been which older Winchester was going to be the one who broke in hell, which one would break the first seal. It should have been their father. It was supposed to be their father. But he held out for almost a year; that was close to 120 years demon time. The bastards just had no idea what a hard-headed stubborn sonnofabitch John Winchester was. So they prompted him. Set up the little special kid assembly and expertly maneuvered all the players until it was down to Jake and Sam. Sam who wouldn't kill but Jake would. And what wonderful incentive that would be to break John with. If he sold his soul for one son, he'd sure as hell break for the other…

So although Azazel told Dean it was beyond him to bring Sam back, he was lying. Sam could and would be brought back, with a deal. It was just a matter of who that deal was going to be made with. John or Dean. And it was Dean.

John escaped when the Hell's Gate was opened but it still didn't matter because old YED had Dean, another righteous Winchester to take his place. And Dean broke in less than four months. Thirty years.

Sam was resurrected; just as he was supposed to be according to their plan, and the first seal broke. Yippee. So yeah, it had to be Sam. It always had to be Sam.

There were never any plans for anyone else.

The big question was why?

"_And I can't even kill myself, he said he'd just bring me back!"_ Sam's words broke through his epiphany and Dean slammed back into the conversation.

"Whoa, wait a sec! Back that apple cart right back up." Dean was now pacing, the small motel room he was staying in quickly making him claustrophobic. "No killing yourself, Sam, I mean it." He _might_ be happy by himself but that didn't mean he wanted his brother dead. Jeez, why did everything have to always be so dire?

"_Are you even listening to me!"_ Sam's exasperated voice huffed in his ear. _"There's no point! So we need the Colt."_

"I don't know if it will work on him," Dean hated to admit. His emotions were jagged, his instincts on edge. Everything inside him screamed _Sam, Sam_.

"_Well what the hell do you expect me to do? I can't just wait for him to find me! I need your help, Dean, I can't do this by myself."_

He felt sick. He didn't know what to say. How to answer anymore. Part of him wanted to assure Sam he was on his way and everything would work out but another part was terrified of giving up his new found autonomy. It was nice only having to worry about his skin and not have to go into every hunt wondering if this was the one he'd lose his brother on. Sure Sam off doing his own thing could get him killed too, but Dean wouldn't have to watch it this time. He wouldn't have to hold his dying brother and know there wasn't a God-damned thing he could do. He –

He yanked the door to the room open and stepped outside. It was dark but he didn't wonder what time it was. Apocalypse wasn't a nine-to-five thing. It happened when and where it wanted to happen which was pretty much all the time and everywhere.

"Yes, you can, Sam." The words felt wrong even as he said them. "You don't need me."

Silence met his proclamation, and funny how his brother not saying anything still drove a fist through his gut. He knew this was wrong. Dean knew it on the very visceral level of what made him the man he was, yet here he was, still denying Sam of the one thing they both wanted – all Dean's delusions aside; to find common ground, to stand on a united front and turn their faces in the same direction again.

To let Sam back in.

And certainly finding the Colt was as plausible a solution to this as any offered so far; definitely much more palatable than letting Michael floss his teeth but –

The stubborn, angry part of Dean that refused to let go of his hurt made him pull back. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall outside his motel room. The only thing he heard was the sound of his brother breathing on the other end of the phone. "Sam? You still there?"

"_Honestly, Dean, I don't know anymore…"_

And then Sam hung up.

------

_One Month Later:_

"Hey Singer, how you doing?" Rufus's gruff voice surprised Bobby.

"Still can't walk. Yourself?"

The other hunter ignored him. "Those Winchester boys still hanging out at your place?" he asked instead.

Bobby was immediately guarded. "Why'ja asking?"

"Well, I heard something in the wind and figured I owed them boys for saving my ass there a couple of weeks ago. Kinda feel horrible for feeding that kid salt and all."

"You should."

"People been talking…"

"About what?"

"About the younger boy."

"Sam?" The hair rose on the back of Bobby's neck. "What they saying?"

"That he's mixed up in all this."

"Aren't we all?"

"Yeah, but not in the same way. Look, Bobby, I'm not going to mince meat here. The word is that he's backing the wrong team and that he and Dean split up and he's on his own. All I can tell ya is there's trouble coming down the pike in a big way for the kid so I wanted to give you a heads up."

Bobby sighed. This was what he was afraid of when Dean told him that the boys were working separately. Well Dean was anyway. Sam was on a fool's mission looking for the Colt, if it was even anywhere to be found. Damned Lucifer had somehow gotten to the kid and totally fucked him over. Bobby couldn't remember ever seeing the young hunter so freaked out about anything before, not even after Dean died. Then he'd been hurting, now he was terrified. He remembered Rufus was still on the phone. "Thanks for the heads up, Rufus. I'll let the boys know."

"For what it's worth I'm not of that thinking. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't think the kid's any angel but he ain't no hell demon either." Bobby heard a bitter huff, "Me and Jo Harvelle can both testify to that. Take care, Singer, and if I find a pair a legs, I'll send 'em your way."

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby grumbled and clicked off the call.

He frowned in consideration. This was really more trouble the Winchesters didn't need, especially when one of them still had his head so far up his ass, he was sure he saw daylight. _Idiots._

Thumbing the speed dial, he put the phone back to his ear and hoped he was making the right call.

Three rings later a sleepy voice answered and Bobby started talking.

"Dean. We have a problem..."

------

As soon as Dean pulled up outside the old building he knew something wasn't right. He double checked that GPS co-ordinates and frowned. This was the place. Well this was where Sam's_ phone_ was anyways.

And Dean was hoping his brother was there as well.

He had to admit, sheepishly now the more he thought about it, that when Bobby had first phoned and told him about Rufus's warning, Dean had hesitated. He hadn't spoken to Sam in weeks, not since that night the kid had called freaked out about Lucifer wanting him to be his vessel and insisting they needed to find the Colt. And Dean had turned him away.

Not that he wanted anything bad to happen to his brother – no, it wasn't that at all. He still loved the kid but… things were complicated.

And he was busy. Hunts to hunt, people to save.

And Castiel had gotten new intel that they were following up on.

And Sam was a good hunter. He didn't need Dean to find the Colt. Not really.

And…

God he had so many excuses…

But then he remembered the sound of utter dejection in Sam's voice just before he hung up…

"_Sam? You still there?"_

"_Honestly, Dean, I don't know anymore…"_

And told Castiel that the angel was on his own.

At least until he got hold of Sam and convinced the stubborn idiot to get his ass to Bobby's to regroup. Maybe see if Ellen, Jo or even Rufus would help him find the gun. They did kinda owe Sam and why the kid hadn't already done so, was beyond Dean.

So now Dean was here a day later tracking down his brother's cell phone since Sam didn't seem to want to answer it. The idea that Sam might not be able to answer was something Dean didn't want to consider. He still believed the split was a good thing for both of them. Sam was better off as far away from Dean as he could get right now with both demons and angels gunning for Dean. And that was the only reason why he'd gone along with the cockamamie idea without a fight, firm in the knowledge that once this was all over, he could fix things with his brother and they could both move on.

Even Sam telling him about Lucifer hadn't changed that idea much, especially since the dark angel couldn't find his brother and Dean was making louder waves in the supernatural world as he continued to hunt, hopefully distracting trouble away from his brother. Well, until now.

Talk about living in an idiot's paradise…

Parking the Impala he sighed, exhausted from the frenetic cross country race, one hand steering, the other frantically dialing and redialing his brother's cell. But each time it just went to voicemail.

_Damnit_.

Getting out of the car, Dean stood for a few moments and listened. Everything was quiet. He frowned. _Everything_ was quiet. No sound of rushing traffic, no birds, not even the stirring of a breeze through the broken windows.

Something was off here.

Things were wrong and not for the first time, Dean wondered if this was a trap and cursed himself for possibly running right into it. It wouldn't be a stretch. His enemies had done it before. A threat to Sam always made good bait. Even now.

But Sam's phone was in there…

Exhaling wearily, Dean moved to the trunk of the car and armed himself with anything he could carry. He eyed the first aid kit then reached past it for the axe, not expecting to find his brother in there anyway.

"Okay," he grumbled as he finally slammed the car trunk closed. "Let's go see who's home…"

Walking towards the deserted warehouse, he eyed the closed overhead doors speculatively. The front yard was huge and suggested that at one time, this was a busy trailer area. It had lots of room for wide turns.

Carrying his favorite shotgun, Dean headed for the smaller door at the side and yanked it open. The hinges creaked and the sound echoed inside. He winced. So much for a quiet entrance, but as soon as he stepped inside he realized no amount of noise he made was going to matter. There was no one alive to hear him.

------

"Bobby?'

"Dean? Did you find him?'

"No – not really."

"What do you mean, not really?"

"Well I tracked the GPS in his phone to an abandoned warehouse but…"

"But? Spit it out, boy, I'm not getting any younger!"

"But someone beat me to the punch."

"What do you mean?'

"I mean there's like four dead guys here. It's bad, Bobby, they weren't just killed, they were ripped apart. I ain't never seen anything like this before. It's bad."

"… Any sign of Sam?"

"No. Thank God."

"Okay. Okay. So, hunters? Recognize any of them?"

'No. But, yeah, hunters, I'm pretty sure of it."

"And you're sure-"

"Sammy isn't here, Bobby."

"What about the GPS?'

"I dunno…"

"Did you check out back?"

".."

"Dean?"

".."

"Dean? Did. You. Check. Outside?'

"No. _Damnit_. No. Give me a sec-"

------

Badly shaken by the mess of the men, Dean stalked towards a door that had to lead out to the back of the building. He held the cell phone with the connection to Bobby in one hand and his shotgun in the other, although he was pretty sure that whoever, whatever, had killed those poor sonnsabitches was long gone. Gut instinct told him he was alone.

Shoving open the back door, he stepped out into the dull grey afternoon fully expecting to find another empty yard –

And froze.

"Oh. My. God."

And then he was running, his eyes once again damning his soul.

It was Sam.

_Sammy._

His brother was here.

Tied –

Like a bug –

On the grill of an old transport truck.

Half-naked –

Whipped –

His back a bloody mess.

_Oh. My. God._

His cheek pressed hard against the chrome, Sam was tied tight, his long arms stretched out and pulled taut by thick chain that ran under the front wheel wells. Dean couldn't see how the chain was secured and cursed the obvious need to go back to the car for the bolt cutters and – his eyes grew hard as he took in the damage to his brother, Sam was shirtless from the waist up – the need for the first aid kit.

The kid was a mess. Ugly welts and deep lacerations shredded his muscular back almost to the bone in a couple of places, and Dean had to swallow hard as the coppery smell of his brother's blood made him nauseous. His eyes darted lower and he clenched his teeth so hard it hurt. One of those bastards had reopened the scar. The sound of harsh and haggard breathing was the only thing that kept him from totally losing it – Sam was alive.

"Sammy?" he whispered as he reached out a shaky hand to touch the side of his bother's clammy face. Sam flinched and moaned low in his throat. "It's okay, bro, I'm here now. It's okay." It really wasn't, none of this was, but Dean would make sure it got to be.

And then the sound of something behind him had him spinning around, shotgun up, injured brother at his back.

A man was standing in front of him.

_A hunter._

A hunter holding a whip.

"You sonnovabitch," Dean's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Dean Winchester I presume?" The man, tall and thin, didn't seem phased by the weapon.

"And you are?" Dean sneered. "I always like to know the name of the man I'm about to kill."

The other hunter chuckled. It wasn't a friendly sound. "You are very much your father's son. He had balls on him too."

Dean tightened his stance, very much aware of how vulnerable his brother was right now.

"Name's Mac," the man offered. "I suppose it's too much to ask if we can settle this friendly like."

"Friendly went out the door the second you went after my brother."

"What are you doing here anyway?" The man gave him an assessing look. "Sam certainly wasn't expecting you. Said you wouldn't come. Fact he was pretty damn adamant that you weren't involved in any of this at all. Practically begged us to keep this between us and him."

"_This_?" Dean sneered, his heart pounded painfully. Sam thought he didn't care and yet he still'd tried to protect Dean. "And what exactly is _this_?"

"Him," Mac glanced at Sam. Dean immediately shifted to block his line of sight. He didn't even want this guy _looking_ at Sam. "And demons. Heard he's all cozy with them. A friggin' mole. A traitor!"

"My brother ain't no traitor!" Even as angry and betrayed feeling as Dean was, he knew his brother wasn't a turncoat; a misguided idiot, yes, but not a collaborator. Sam would die before he gave _any_ demon information to use against them. Against himself? Well that was another thing and just one of the many things he and his brother were going to have to talk about.

"_Your brother?_ Are you so sure about that, Dean Winchester?" Mac spat. "If I wasn't so sure of what he was before, I damn well am now!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Heard he was in cahoots with a demon, started all the shit that's been going down in the past few weeks, so me and the boys thought we'd take him in for questioning-"

"Kangaroo court, you mean?" Dean's morbid curiosity was the only thing keeping this man alive right now. He wanted to know what people were saying but wasn't prepared to let this drag out for very long. Sam was a bigger priority and God, didn't it feel good right down to his toes to be thinking it.

Mac shrugged, the tip of the whip curled dust with the movement. "Hardly matters, now does it? We'd barely gotten started-" Dean raised an eyebrow at that, "-when a pack of demons tore through here like a hot bloody knife through butter."

Chills danced across Dean's ribs. "What?"

"You heard me. Your _brother's_ 'people'. Coming to save his ass… You saw what they did to my buddies. It wasn't pretty and they would have done it to me too if I hadn't gotten away-"

"You mean _ran_?" Dean didn't think it was possible to despise this man any more than he had. He was wrong. "You left your friends to die?"

"It's war, kid," Mac snorted, idly flicking the whip in agitation. "You do what you got to, to survive. I can't make things right by them if I'm dead too."

"You mean finish what you started?" Dean grit the words out, never more aware of his brother and his need to protect him. "And kill Sam."

The man gave an unapologetic shrug. "He ain't a demon, but he ain't quite human either…" He raised the whip. "Is he?"

Dean watched as the whip started to curl.

"You have no idea what he is." Mac taunted. With one quick movement, the whip sliced through the air towards them –

Towards Sam.

Dean didn't move.

This bastard wasn't going to hurt his brother again.

He felt the lick of the lash against his cheek.

It stung.

He squeezed the trigger –

Growled, _"He's my brother, you asshole. That's what he is." _

And watched the hunter drop.

It was over.

For now.

Turning back to his brother, Dean pressed a trembling hand against Sam's shoulder. "It's okay," he promised. "You're safe now…"

------

Dean had a bitch of a time getting Sam back to the car. The bolt cutters had done their work on the chain easily enough but man-handling an out of it and injured oversized baby brother was another thing. It took longer than Dean liked but he finally got the kid in the backseat of the car, placing his jacket between Sam's skin and the vinyl as he laid him down on his stomach. He didn't bother looking for Sam's shirt in that hell-hole, he did find the cell phone though, perched all pretty like on the hood of the truck.

He stood back and watched his brother for a moment, drinking Sam in, before closing the door and going to his own seat. _Sasquatches didn't fit very well in backseats_, he admitted sadly, then cast a glance at the empty passenger seat next to him, _they fit perfectly somewhere else…_

------

"You got him?"

"Yeah, Bobby, I got him."

"Is he okay?"

"Define okay."

"Alive?"

"Okay, then he's okay."

"_**Dean.**__"_

"They beat him up and whipped the shit out of him, Bobby, how the hell do you think he's doing?!"

"_Dean…"_

"Ah, crap, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Stow the hippy love crap. You're allowed to be ornery right now. When you boys going to be here?"

"Bobby-"

"Don't make me drag my ass out there after you…"

"Geez, dude, all right, already! But give us a couple of days. Sam's in no shape for driving."

"Fine. But I want to talk to him as soon as he's able."

"Yeah, well, so do I…"

------

"D'n?" a whispered slur made Dean smile as he saw Sam's eye crack open a sliver and blink sluggishly at him. The kid was lying face down on a queen sized bed, his back cleaned, stitched and lightly dressed to prevent infection. He'd been out since Dean had hauled him into the motel room the prior evening and it was good to see him finally awake.

The pain-filled moans and gasps throughout the night did not count.

"The one and only." He ran an assessing eye over the side of Sam's face he could see as his brother had yet to try to lift his head off the mattress. Not that Dean would be encouraging any kind of movement today. The younger man's cheek was puffed and bruised. Apparently whipping him half to death hadn't been enough of a plan, the hunters had knocked him around a bit first.

"Wha' ya," Sam panted lightly as he shifted slightly on the bed. The painkillers Dean had force fed him were obviously starting to wear off, "doing here?"

That cut Dean to the quick. Reminded him of what Mac had said, Sam hadn't expected him to come and now the kid still wondered why he was even here. It hurt to hear but there was validity in the question. The last time Sam had called for help, Dean _had_ turned him down. God, what an ass he'd been _that_ day. Swallowing hard, he gave his brother's head a playful swipe that ended up with him carding his fingers through the dark strands and teased gently, "Slumming."

Sam scrunched up his face in confusion then exhaled wearily. "Oh."

Dean rolled his eyes, crouched down next to the bed so his brother wasn't having to look up and sighed. "_Oh? _I'm just kidding, bro."

Blinking the one eye Dean could see, Sam watched him.

"Sam. _Sammy_… Man," the older hunter struggled before finally huffing out, "I have no idea what to say."

_That_ got a reaction from the Sam. The younger man chuckled and then groaned as the movement didn't agree with him.

"Hey, hey, stop moving!" Dean chastised lightly even as he reached out and pressed a hand carefully on his brother's covered back.

"Sorry," Sam whispered a bit breathlessly, "Never thought I'd hear you admit that."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't happen very often so enjoy it while you can." He flashed a smile. It felt good to have his brother back. And that thought pleasantly pleased him…

"You okay?"

Dean frowned then reached up to touch the laceration over his cheekbone when he realized what Sam was talking about. He almost laughed out loud at his brother's concern. Yeah, the laceration stung like a sonnovabitch but considering how badly messed up Sam's back was, the fact that the kid was worrying over it, made him feel warm inside. He forgot how good it felt to be worried over by someone you'd still give your life for. "I think I'll live."

"Good," Sam winced as he tried to shift his face against the mattress. "You didn't answer… what'cha doing here?"

"Rufus called Bobby. Said some A-holes were on to you. You know Bobby. He worried you'd get in over your head and he called me."

If Sam was hurt that Dean came when Bobby asked to but not when Sam had called for himself, the younger man didn't say anything about it. Instead he seemed to mull that over for a bit before he finally gave a slight shrug. "Guess he was right."

"Hey, that's not fair, they were what? Five to one? Geez, those odds suck even for me." He was trying to keep things light.

"You got angel backup," the words were murmured, Sam was losing the fight to remain conscious.

Dean sighed and scrubbed his free hand over his face. Man, he was tired. "Yeah, well, not sure that counts."

Sam blinked slowly at him.

"He won't get pie," Dean groused. Then his eyes softened and all pretenses slipped away. "And," he cleared his throat, his words honest, "he ain't you…"

Slowly and with great effort, Sam reached out. Dean met him half way, carefully grasping the shaking hand that was offered. Dark bruises already purpled the thin skin on Sam's wrist. "I'm sorry," the younger man whispered and, as if it was the only thing he had left to say, Sam closed his eyes. His grip went lax in Dean's hand and his breathing evened out. The broken hunter gave in to the pull of injured exhaustion.

But Dean didn't let go. Not right away. Instead he stayed crouched next to the bed until his knees burned and his back ached. Only then did he gingerly lay Sam's hand down on the mattress and stand up.

Sam was sorry but so was he.

There were too many enemies on too many fronts, and things that seemed to make sense didn't always work out so well. But through it all, there was still one burning truth:

Sam was his brother… and _that_ was enough.

If Dean let it be…

And as he stared down at his sleeping brother, he knew there was no 'if'.

Things would never be the same between them. It couldn't be. But that didn't mean things couldn't get better. And really? Right now? They already were.

Moving away from Sam, Dean grabbed his discarded shotgun, sat down on the edge of his own bed and started to carefully take it apart to clean.

Big brother was back on duty. And damn it felt good.

As soon as Sam was on his feet again, they'd find the Colt, if it was even around to be found.

It was time to kick some ass.

Together.

The End


End file.
